


Long Long Way to Go

by amaranthineArcane (toxicNeurosis)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: I bawled while writing this you're welcome, Inspired by Def Leppard's "Long Long Way to Go", Inspired by saccharineSylph's Loophole, Lyricstuck, Petstuck, Sadstuck, sad thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 00:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1837204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxicNeurosis/pseuds/amaranthineArcane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day he is expecting new arrivals, John hears a song on the radio that reminds him of the life he had with Vriska.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Long Way to Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saccharineSylph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saccharineSylph/gifts).



"You held my hand and then you slipped away..."

You walk down a busy street. You don't quite understand why; you don't have any shopping to do, and you're expecting some new arrivals sometime later today. Maybe it's just because of that one song you heard. You need to get it out of your head; it reminds you too much of her.

"And I may never see your face again..."

As hard as you try, you give way to the short-lived memories, let them flow. Maybe that might make it easier.

"So tell me how to fill the emptiness inside..."

No. That only makes it worse. You're biting back tears now, they sting behind your eyelids. Her face has already burned itself into your mind.

"Without love, what is life?..."

Hers is a round face, round in frame yet thin in weight from years in the fight ring and being underfed. Her good eye is a dark cerulean blue; the other is sewn messily shut. Her mouth is twisted in a playful sneer. Her fangs are peeping out from between her lips – the fangs that bit you, scarred you.

Everyone on the street, in the ads, suddenly has her face. The tears are still trying to escape. You don't let them; not here in public. You turn around and return home.

"And anyone who knew us both could see..."

Every time you open the door, whether to go in or to leave, you always see yourself imagining that she's there, standing in the doorway or sitting on the couch wrapped in her blanket and watching Adventure Time or Sesame Street. You can't help it.

The tears burn like hellfire.

"We always were the better part of me..."

There's not much to tidy, but you may as well clean up. No sense in the first thing new faces see being a messy house.

Not that it's not going to be messy after they get settled in, of course.

"I never wanted to be this free..."

The blue fairy wings are still mounted on the mantle. You try to resist the urge to take them down and just hold them.

You fail to resist the urge.

"And all this pain, does it go away?..."

Glitter comes off between your fingers. You remember her running around in these absolutely everywhere: in the house, in the backyard, in the front yard, out in public. You remember the day she swiped them from a Target rack. It seems like forever ago.

Did you ever even remember to pay for them?

You put the wings back.

"And every time I turn around..."

Her drawings still litter the refridgerator; you've never had the heart to take them down. They mean too much to you. Mindfang the pirate fairy, the spiders, you.

"And you're nowhere to be found..."

That does it. The first tear finally falls, and the rest follow suit. For the first time in your life since she left, you sit down on the couch and just cry. Just let it all out.

"I know, I've got a long, long way to go before I can say goodbye to you..."

It's nearly an hour before you can't cry anymore. You know crying won't do anything.

You know it won't bring her back.

But if it can ease the pain a little, damn, you'd cry the rest of your life.

She'd left that much of a mark on you in only a few short months.

"Oh, I've got a long, long way to go before I can say goodbye to all I ever knew..."

Your eyes are red from crying and swollen and sore from rubbing at them with your hands, shirt, tissues. It hurts any way you do it.

You splash a little cold water on your face, then on second thought, shave the stubble that's been forming on your chin. You had never been one for facial hair. You don't think she'd been, either.

Now to finish cleaning.

"To you..."

The rest of the chore goes without incident. The television plays you don't even know what. Sesame Street, you think.

"To you..."

You wonder what other programs she would have liked. The Simpsons, most definitely. She would have loved The Simpsons. Maybe Family Guy, too, and The Cleveland Show. You start naming off other programs in your head, make a mental list.

If you ever get another like her, even remotely, no matter what age or sex, you won't hold back. The television will be his or hers to command. No exceptions.

Except porn. Porn is off-limits until adulthood.

"From memory there is no hiding place..."

You put Con Air in an obvious place, where you'll remember it. You'd watched it with you father. You'd watched it with her, even though you hadn't wanted to at the time.

You'd give anything to watch it with her again, no matter how badly it sucked.

You'll watch it with these children. It's the best way to be closer to her you can think of.

"Turn on the TV and I see you there..."

You start thinking about these new children, what they'll look like, their blood colors. Maybe there's a chance, no matter how slim, of a cerulean that might look a bit like her, or act like her.

You would like that. You would like that very much.

"In every crowd there's always someone with your face..."

You eye the fairy wings again. Maybe you ought to get all your new arrivals fairy wings, in different colors, to match their blood. Do they make multicolored wings?

You're pretty sure they do.

Your step is less heavy, less sullen.

"Everywhere, trying not to care..."

You run to the corner market just down the road. To get crayons. The big sixty-four pack. You get five of them. You don't care if they crayon everything in the house, these children will have coloring supplies and they will use them and be happy about it.

You barely remember to pick up printer paper in time. No more crayoning possibly-important documents.

"And every time I turn around..."

Crayons and paper on the counter in easy access. Cookie jar just out of reach of tiny prying hands.

But no cookies.

You grab a bag of Betty Crocker mix and start baking. The sweet smell of chocolate fills the house. You missed that smell, even from the beloathed Batterwitch.

"And you're nowhere to be found..."

Cookies are dumped in the cookie jar. You sneak one for yourself while you're at it. Now to make sure you didn't forget anything. You bustle about the house, checking rooms and making sure everything was in its place. The piano in what was once your father's room is uncovered. It has been left uncovered for some time. You want it to remain that way. Maybe you might have a musically-talented little one coming.

"I know, I've got a long, long way to go before I can say goodbye to you..."

You sit down on the couch again, have a mental conversation with yourself. Some people call that mental deterioration.

You call it healthy.

"Oh, I've got a long, long way to go before I can say goodbye to all I ever knew..."

You wonder where she is now. Most likely Heaven – no, definitely Heaven. If any little girl deserves to go there, it's her.

She's probably an angel by now. But with glittery blue fairy wings instead of the stereotypical feathery white ones. White feathery wings just don't suit her.

Your face is feeling less weathered, no longer ninety years old like it has been.

"To you, I wish you everything and all the best that life can bring..."

You wonder if she's watching you right now in Heaven, if she ever tries to influence things to help you take it a little easier.

Can angels even do that, or is that God's power alone? If so, can angels still make requests?

You would like it if they could.

"I only hope you think of me sometimes..."

You step back, examine everything, think. Maybe this is her way of helping you. Or your own way of helping yourself. Either way, someone has to wear the pants in the relationship.

"Oh, and even though I feel the pain..."

You look at the clock. They said they'd be here sometime between three and four. It's three-thirteen now. They should be here any minute. You put Vriska out of your mind. You know she'll crawl back in again, but for now, all you need to focus on is what's arriving in the minivan driving up the street.

Your face cracks in a smile for the first time in you don't remember how long.

"I know that I will love again..."

You look out the window. The tire swing still hangs from the tree. You remember pushing her on it, her and her fairy wings. You'd cry, but there are no more tears to shed.

"The time will come, oh, and I'll move on..."

But enough time for grieving. It's time to move on. It will be slow, yes, but it will happen.

These children will have the world handed to them. You'll make sure of that.

The vehicle stops at the edge of your driveway. The turn signal blinks.

"I've got a long, long way to go before I can say goodbye to all I ever knew..."

You go outside, stand in the doorway, watch the car pull into the driveway. You see a small gray face and tangerine horns peek out at you from a shaded window.

Your heart feels lighter, ready to give love, ready to let love in.

You want it to stay that way.

"To you..."

**Author's Note:**

> My T-shirt is wet now because I bawled grossly while writing this or even think about it.
> 
> You're welcome.
> 
> I do not own Loophole, Homestuck, or the Def Leppard song of the same name as this fic, nor do I own the lyrics in this fic.


End file.
